


Unfinished Business

by kronette



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Episode: s02e01 In My Time of Dying, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-26
Updated: 2012-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-20 14:31:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kronette/pseuds/kronette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam had called his name at least three dozen times so far, all with different inflections. Anger. Questioning. Pleading. Pissed off. Whiney. Choked through tears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unfinished Business

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [**spn_25**](http://community.livejournal.com/spn_25/) Theme Set 2, "A World Divided" Prompt #20: Mortality  
>  An alternate scene from "In My Time of Dying." Originally posted 20 March 2007 @ 08:04 pm

“Dean.”

“Dean?”

“ _Dean_.”

Sam had called his name at least three dozen times so far, all with different inflections. Anger. Questioning. Pleading. Pissed off. Whiney. Choked through tears. 

If Dean could feel anything, he’d feel remorse that he’d left Sammy to deal with this on his own. 

It had been Dean’s job to take care of Sam, to watch out for him, to make sure he ate something and didn’t watch too much TV. Sammy’s TV viewing habits had never been a problem when they were growing up. Sammy had liked his cartoons, but he’d liked books more. When Dad was gone, sometimes, Dean would take Sammy to the library and _borrow_ a couple of books. At eight years old, Sammy had been reading fourth grade material; when he was ten, he’d been reading seventh grade classroom books. 

Their dad had never known. Dean had never lied to him, but with Sammy, Dean had decided that Dad didn’t need to know some things. A lie of omission. A lie to keep the peace. 

When Dean had graduated high school, Sammy – _Sam_ – had been taking sophomore classes. Dean had known then that Sam wasn’t made for this life of theirs, his and Dad’s. Dad had wanted, _needed_ to find the thing that killed Mom. Dean had done whatever his Dad had asked him to do. Sam had done exactly the opposite. 

Like now. 

It was so typically _Winchester_ that Dean would have laughed if he could. Sam stayed by his bedside as if he expected Dean to wake up and start talking at any moment. 

Dean knew that would never happen. 

He could see the machines, wires and breathing tube that were keeping him alive. He saw how heavily wrapped his head and chest were, and the darkness of the blood seeping through the top layer of bandages. He was slowly bleeding to death. Broken head and broken heart; one by the impact of the crash, the other by that – _thing_ that used his father’s body and his father’s face against him. Used his father’s words; words that Dean knew his father would never, ever say. Dad loved him; Dean knew that, and he loved his father. He was more a partner than son, and had been since he was six years old and in charge of both a toddler and a grieving husband. He accepted those responsibilities a long time ago. Whether a son or a soldier-in-arms, Dean knew his father trusted him, relied on him, and expected him to do the right thing, always. 

The right thing was exactly what Dean intended to do. He knelt by Sam’s side, eyes locked on how small his own hand looked engulfed between Sam’s. He placed a hand over Sam’s, closed his eyes and thought _pressure_. When Sam gasped, Dean’s eyes flew open. 

Sam stared at their mingled hands, his tears falling freely. “D-Dean?” he stuttered, eyes flashing from Dean’s battered face to their joined hands. 

“Dad never knew how smart you were,” Dean said, concentrating on _projecting_ his voice. “I lied about your advanced classes. That was our secret. I lied to you about Stanford. I knew you were leaving weeks before you told me.” 

Sam was looking in his general direction, but didn’t lock on his gaze. “Dean, why? Why tell me this now? It’s _so_ not important when you’re…”

_Pressure_ and _forceful,_ “Yes, it is.” He could feel himself weakening, heard the stretched-thin heartbeat monitor. So little time left. “Go back. Don’t waste your life on Dad’s quest. Dad needs a partner, not a son, and you’ll always be his son. Hunting that thing will drive you apart, and you’ll both end up dead, like me.” 

Sam vehemently shook his head. “ _No_ , Dean. You’re not dying.”

Dean pulled his hand back as his body twitched on the bed. ”You know I am.”

Frantically, Sam leapt for the call button and pounded it with his fist. “Help! I need help in here!” he screamed. 

Doctors and carts pushed into the room, shoving Sam into the doorway and away from Dean’s body. Dean stood beside Sam and watched his mortal body dying. Sam’s choked denials filled his ear; filled his head. The paddles jerked his body again, but he knew it was too late. 

He placed his hand on Sam’s shoulder and focused all his remaining energy into _being_. 

A tiny whimper escaped Sam’s bruised mouth. “Dean. Don’t go. Don’t leave me alone.” 

Dean leaned closer to be heard over the din behind him. “If my death ends up saving you and Dad, then I accept it. Don’t hunt the Demon because of me, Sam. It _wants_ you consumed with hate and bitterness, and you’re not going to give it the satisfaction.” He studied Sam’s tear-streaked face, his little brother’s head shaking in denial even as a monotone began behind him. No time left. “I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of, but _this_ , this makes up for all of it. I can take this with me, Sammy. I know you’ll be okay. Dad will, too. Don’t shut him out. He doesn’t know any other way.” 

Sam locked on his gaze for the first time, surprise and anguish melding into an overwhelming surge of rage _._ “I won’t let you give up, Dean. You’re going keep fighting until you wake up.” Sam’s hand passed through his, instead grabbing onto his own shoulder. Startled panic washed over Sam, but Dean was helpless to do anything about it. “Oh, shit, not yet, Dean; don’t give up. I’ve got so much to tell you…things we never talked about…you never told me what you did all those years I was gone. I – Jessica threw me a 21 st birthday party – I wanted you there – you always threatened tequila – shit – I worked in a bookstore my first semester – God, not yet – in grade school I was embarrassed to be your brother and I’m so sorry for that now – I wanted to be like you later when nothing phased you not even that first werewolf or Tonya what’s-her-name going down on you behind the school and I know you hate it but I love you because you took care of me and were always there for me and I’m me because of you and nothing I say can ever be thanks enough.”

The buzz of the flatline grew louder, nearly overpowering Sam’s gulps of air. 

Dean felt a vague yearning to cry, but it wasn’t strong enough to reach his eyes. “You were the world’s most annoying little brother, but you always had my back,” he said, hearing his own voice grow faint. “I trusted you with my life when I didn’t trust anyone for anything. I love you, Sasquash. Now, screw the mushy crap, bitch.”

Dean couldn’t make out Sam’s features any more, but the fading voice followed him: “I’ll miss you too, jerk.”

-=-=-=-

“Hey, old man. Get your lazy ass outta bed.” 

John Winchester groaned and pried his eyes open, squinting against the bright overhead light. “I ought ‘a smack your mouth for that, dude,” he grumbled, forcing his spinning head to settle. 

“You haven’t called me that since I was twelve and Heather McDaniels took me to the Sadie Hawkins dance,” came the quiet reply.

John blinked rapidly, remembering what had happened and why his body ached and Dean’s heart pounding in his head and the blood pouring from his ribcage…”Dean!” 

He sat up, ignoring the pain, his eyes settling on his eldest. “Dean,” he breathed, reaching his arms out to encircle his son. 

Dean stepped back and shook his head. “It’s Sammy. He needs you.” 

John’s arms thumped back to the bed, dead weight. “He’s okay, isn’t he?” he rasped. “He made it through the crash – okay?”

Dean sucked on his lower lip, but met John’s gaze. “He’s banged up, but physically, he’ll be fine.” 

Fear and suspicion grew in the pit of John’s stomach. “What does that mean? What aren’t you telling me?” 

Dean dropped his gaze, and John’s fears escalated into shallow breathing and a racing heart. “Dad, Sammy’s going to come here and tell you some news. You won’t like it, but I’ve accepted it. I’m okay with it.” 

His hands trembled nearly as much as his voice as John pieced together what Dean was telling him, and then he got pissed. “I don’t want you to accept it. You fight, son. You fight with everything you’ve got.”

A five year old’s sad smile emanated from Dean’s adult face. “I fought as hard as I could, Dad. I don’t want to fight anymore. I’m tired. I’ve been tired for a long time. I want to rest. I want you to tuck me in, kiss me on the forehead and tickle Mom in the doorway as she comes in to say goodnight. You remember that?” 

Tears slipped down John’s cheeks as he replayed most nights with his son and wife, before Sammy came along. “Just one cookie before bedtime,” he struggled to say, just like he used to say it to little Dean, an impish grin on his round baby face as they “snuck behind” Mary’s back. 

Dean’s voice was sadder than John’s was as he whispered, “I’ve been too old for cookies for a long time now, Dad.” 

His son began to fade before his eyes, and panic filled his chest. Just a little longer, that’s all he’s asking for. Just a few more minutes. “I know, Dean. I’m sorry that you didn’t get the childhood you should have had. I gave you what you needed to survive. I just want – I wish you had a better life.” 

Dean – solidified – for a moment and John grasped onto hope as tightly as he could. If he could keep Dean talking, maybe he’d be forced to stay and fight. 

“I had you and Sammy. There’s not much else I wanted or needed…except the car,” Dean amended, flashing a quick smile and startling a laugh out of John. His laughter died abruptly at his son’s soft, pleading voice, quieter than he remembered Dean ever being: “Fix her for me?” 

With a lump in his throat, John watched his son fade even further, the stark whiteness of the hospital wall clearly showing through. “I promise, she’ll be better than ever. Dean,” he shouted desperately as his son almost disappeared. “Dean, I need to tell you…I should have told you a long time ago…”

He thought he saw the flash of a familiar mischievous smile as a voice murmured past his ear, “I’ve always known, Dad. The feeling’s mutual.” 

The muted sounds of the hospital slowly came back to John as he lay back in the bed, body aching with the movements, licking salty tears from his lips. 

“Dad.” Sam stumbled into the room, barely able to stand, and John held out his good arm, caught his son, and held on tight. “Dad, Dean…he’s…”

“Shh, Sammy,” John whispered in Sam’s hair. “I know. It’s all right.” He held his son tighter as Sam’s broken sobs pierced his heart. “I’ll take care of you, Sammy. As long as I’m around, nothing bad is going to happen to you.”

The End  



End file.
